


Home Truths

by cybel



Category: The Professionals
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 07:00:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/975841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cybel/pseuds/cybel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>God I was scared. Once I told Ray I was afraid all the time, and I meant it, too, though I doubt he believed me. But not like this. Never like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Truths

**Author's Note:**

> This story, now slightly re-edited, originally appeared in the 1996 multifandom zine _Playfellows 9_ , published by Merry Men Press. It was not then and has still not been Britpicked. My apologies.

God I was scared. Once I told Ray I was afraid all the time, and I meant it, too, though I doubt he believed me. But not like this. Never like this. Not in Africa. Not even as a boy of fourteen when I couldn't stop my father from beating my mother to death. I ran then, and, one way or another, I've been running ever since. Until now.

It was Ray, of course. Who else? I saw it coming the minute he looked at that bitch Ann Holly and thought he saw his future laid out on a platter in front of him.

His future. Christ, I could have told him she was all wrong for him, and, truth be told, he was all wrong for her. Still, he would have taken her with all her faults and cherished her, loved her in spite of them. But she would have made a life's work of changing him, of making him over into something that he wasn't, something that existed only in that self-centered, upper crust mind of hers. If she hadn't gone, she would have destroyed him eventually. Or maybe she already had done.

He grieved when she left him. Went through it all, from disbelief to depression to anger. Acceptance should have come next, and healing after that, but it all went wrong. Maybe he was hurting so bad that something gave way inside of him, like a fuse blowing. I don't know. All I know is that he started acting normal again, with an emphasis on the word 'acting', because underneath it all he was coiled tight as a spring and ready to snap.

Not that he was suicidal, mind, or even that he got careless on the job. No, it was more subtle than that. He wasn't careless, he just didn't care, if you know what I mean. He took risks that he wouldn't have taken before. The kind of risks Shotgun Tommy used to take. But Tommy was mad and threw himself headlong into danger for the joy of it. Ray just didn't give a damn, and that was what frightened me so much.

We were on the Montesque Op when it came to a head. We tracked Filbrooks to an innocent looking semi-detached in a pleasant suburb of London and managed to warn off the neighbors and surround the house without alerting him to our presence. Ray and I were set to go in through the front while Anson and Susan went 'round the back.

I shouldered the door open, and Ray followed me in. Filbrooks had to have heard, and we knew he would be ready for us.

We started our sweep of the house like always. The ground floor was clean, and I covered Ray from the foot of the stairs as he started up. We both heard the click of a trigger being pulled back at the same time. It was Filbrooks, of course, crouched down in the shadows on the first floor landing, his gun pointed straight at Ray's gut.

Ray's fast, faster than I could ever hope to be with my greater weight and muscle mass. He moves like a cat, and that speed has saved him, and me, more times than I care to count. Before Filbrooks could even blink, much less pull the trigger, Ray had him covered.

It should have been over then, but Ray didn't shoot. Instead he said, cool as you please, "Give it up, mate. You're not a shooter. Try it on and you're dead."

"Then I'll take you with me!" Filbrooks' voice was unsteady, hollow. He was in a panic, not thinking straight. He was a time bomb, and if he went off Ray would be caught in the explosion.

I'd have taken him out then and there and to hell with Cowley's orders to bring him back for questioning, but Ray stood between us on the stairs, blocking my aim. I could feel the sweat starting to prickle my skin as I edged to the right, angling for a clear shot.

"Tell your partner not to move, or I'll kill you! I swear I will!" The panic was rising, out of control.

Shoot him, Ray, I thought wildly, freezing where I stood. Now, while his attention is on me!

But Ray didn't shoot.

The silence was so thick I thought it would choke me. I could see Filbrooks' eyes over Ray's shoulder, could see the exact instant when the panic won out over reason.

Ray did shoot then, but it was already too late. I braced myself to catch my partner as he fell, certain that, just as Ray couldn't miss his target at that range, neither could Filbrooks. My eyes closed of their own accord when the silence finally shattered.

A moment that seemed to last forever passed before I realised Ray hadn't fallen. My heartbeat, thundering in my ears, drowned out all other sounds as I opened my eyes and pulled in a deep breath, still afraid of what I'd see.

Ray was on the landing, crouched over Filbrooks' body, examining the dead man's gun with detached interest.

"Fancy that, the villain had a stoppage for once instead of one of us." He looked at me with a rueful shake of his head and added, "The Cow'll do his nut when he finds out we've done for his only lead to Montesque. Think we can hide the body before Anson and Susan get up here?"

He grinned that ragged, wicked grin of his, for all the world as if at that moment he shouldn't be lying dead in my arms.

Just then I'd have gladly killed him myself.

Something of what I was feeling must have shown on my face despite my best efforts, because Ray frowned and cocked his head to the side as he stood and looked down the stairs at me. "Bodie? You all right, mate? You look-"

"All right? Fuck no I'm not all right, you bloody bastard!" I roared as I surged up the stairs and pushed him hard against the wall, half throttling him with the arm I pressed up under his chin to hold him there. "I just saw you die, mate, just as sure as if it really happened this time!"

I would have said more, but the look in his eyes stopped me, and I let him go. His hand went to his neck, and I saw him swallow hard and take a deep, rasping breath as he fingered the area where my arm had gripped.

"Christ!" The tremor in my voice scared me, and I turned away, pushing past Anson as I made my escape.

"Watch it, you stupid sod!" Anson called after me. Then, "Oy, where you scarperin' off to? Cowley's on his way. He'll want your report!"

The last thing I heard as I slammed the front door behind me was Ray's voice, hoarse and strained, telling Anson to leave off and let me go.

***

Afterwards Ray didn't say a word about that night, and nor did I. He must have squared things with the Cow, too, because Alpha never called me to task over leaving before he got there. I turned in my written report the next morning, and that was the end of it.

Chance would be a fine thing.

No, Ray didn't say anything, but neither did he have to. Everything about him was a reproach, albeit a silent one. For the next few days he wore polos, always more my style than his, and I knew he was covering the bruises I had given him. When he spoke, which wasn't often, his voice was still hoarse, and he cleared his throat every few minutes as if it continued to hurt him. I wanted to apologise, but not as much as I wanted to yell at him, to tell him he deserved worse than I'd given him. Instead I said nothing, letting my guilt and anger fester inside.

It couldn't keep on like that, of course, but I had no way of knowing how it would end.

***

Somehow we made it through the rest of the week and, as chance would have it, were due for a rare weekend off. I left HQ quick as I could cut free, not taking the time to search out Ray first as I normally would have done. Last thing in the world I wanted was to see him away from the buffer of the job. What I did want was to be alone with a good bottle of double malt.

Didn't last long.

I was barely hitting my stride, on my way to a roaring good solitary drunk, when the buzzer rang. I knew it was Ray. Who else?

Contrary sod. Didn't know when to leave well alone.

I thought of not answering, but it wouldn't've helped. Ray had a key to my flat and wouldn't hesitate to invade my privacy if he had a mind.

Sighing, I swigged down another shot for fortitude, shouted, "Leave off, I'm coming!" at the repetitive clamour he was making, and heaved myself unsteadily toward the door to let him in.

"Whattcha want?" I asked in as unfriendly a manner as I could muster considering I couldn't decide whether to hug him or hit him. Drink takes me that way sometimes, maudlin and belligerent at the same time, and never sure which would win out from one minute to the next. 'S why I don't drink overmuch as a rule. Wouldn't do for one of CI5's hardmen to flatten John Q. Public just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time and getting up my nose because of it. Or, worse yet, for me to get all mushy and dribble down my partner's neck at every verse end.

Playing it safe, I left him standing in the doorway and plonked myself back down on the sofa, waiting for him to make the next move.

It took a while coming, then he stepped inside and pulled the door shut. At that point he seemed to run out of steam, 'cause he just stood there looking confused, as though he didn't quite know why he'd come.

"Sit down!" I growled at last, tired of seeing him shift from foot to foot like a schoolboy called on the carpet by the headmaster. Reticence didn't suit Ray; more the 'Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!' type, he is. "You're wearing a hole in my carpet," I added for good measure.

"Thanks."

The rough rasp of his voice reminded me of how I had hurt him, and I winced, reaching for the Scotch to pour myself another shot. Before I could, though, his hand closed over mine on the neck of the bottle. I looked up at him sharply, but he just shook his head.

"You've had enough, Bodie. We need to talk, to clear the air between us, and we can't if you're eight sails to the wind."

An angry retort rose to my lips, but the sight of his pinched, tired face, set off by the dark green polo that I knew hid the marks I'd left on him, killed it unvoiced.

"Sit down, then," I repeated, resigned to whatever was coming, "and talk."

He settled beside me with a little sigh of exhaustion, leaning back and running his hands through untidy curls. "Christ," he muttered after a minute, "what a bloody mess. What'm I going to do, Bodie? Nothing seems to make sense any more."

I could feel the alcohol muzzying up my brain and blamed it for the sudden urge I had to pull Ray against me and tell him everything would be okay, that I would make everything okay for him, for both of us. But, truth to tell, I didn't have a clue how to do that, and I sure as hell didn't know what I'd do with my macho little partner once I had him in my arms.

Knew, all at once, what I wanted to do, though.

You know the old cliché about a lightbulb switching on, suddenly making everything clear? It was just like that. Would have laughed if it hadn't been so bloody pathetic.

No wonder I couldn't stand Ann from the start. Jealous of her, wasn't I? Wanted Ray for myself, all for myself. Wanted him in every way imaginable. Loved him.

What a bloody cock-up.

"Bodie? What's wrong?"

I probably would have been in a panic just then if I hadn't been so drunk. As it was, the whole thing suddenly struck me funny, and I burst out laughing. Knew it was a mistake even as I did it. Expected Ray to take it wrong, to light into me and be gone before I could explain.

Instead the sad, lost puppy look was slowly replaced by one of wry, if still confused, amusement.

Contrary sod, I thought again and felt like bawling I loved him so much. I reached out and touched him ever so gently, tracing the line of his neck, then reached around behind to free the soft curls that were caught in the high collar of the unaccustomed polo.

"Didn't mean to hurt you the other day, Ray. Was just so bloody scared."

His hand reached up and covered mine, holding it to his neck, moving it up to rub his rough cheek against it. I shivered. Couldn't help it.

"My fault, Bodie. All of it. Don't you think I know that? You're my partner. I owe you my life. Owe it to you to stay alive, too. Haven't been trying to do that lately."

"What are we going to do, Ray?" I asked, hating the plaintive tremor I heard in my voice but not able to control it.

"Don't know. Don't know anything anymore except that I want things right between us again. Don't want to drive you away."

I heard the unspoken "too" in the way his words drifted fretfully into silence, and I knew he was thinking of Ann, of the way she'd left him standing alone in the street. Suddenly I had hold of him, my lips pressed close to his ear, and I was telling him I wasn't Ann, was swearing that I'd never leave him, that I loved him.

When he pulled away I froze, but the look on his face wasn't disgust or anger.

"Ray?"

He shook his head and licked his lips, and God help me I was instantly hard and panting for him despite the drink, despite reason. What he saw on my face I'll never know, but suddenly that cupid's-bow mouth of his was inches away from mine, breath gusting warmly against my face as he searched down into my eyes. Then his mouth was on mine, and I swear if the world had ended then I wouldn't even have noticed, he had me flying that high.

Too high. It was over practically before it began, the two of us straining together like cats on heat, rubbing each other near raw through too-rough denim and cords, yellin' completion like the world really was coming to an end.

It was wonderful and frightening and over far too soon.

When I came to my senses, Ray and I were on the floor, and he was wrapped around me like a limpet, face buried in my hair. His polo was rucked up under his armpits, and my mouth was attached to one of his nipples, just holding on to it like a baby holds on to its binkey for comfort and security. He was trembling under my hands, and mine were none too steady either. I bit down gently, then licked the peaked flesh under my tongue.

"Don't, Bodie, don't," he whimpered even as he gasped and arched toward me, arms wrapping even tighter than before. "Can't take any more just now. Can't."

The rough grate of his voice was incredibly sexy, but the memory of how it got that way brought me back to my senses, and I sighed against his chest, my arms tightening around him. "Sorry, Ray," I murmured. "So sorry. Didn't mean to hurt you."

"Didn't hurt me," he said, still breathless. "Just need a minute to recover's all."

"Not that." I leaned away from him, not letting go. "Your throat."

His eyes were heavy, sated, and apologetic. "Oh." He shrugged and looked away. "My own fault," he said. "Lucky you didn't give me worse. Deserved worse. Was acting like a prat. Wasn't thinking."

"That's a first," I laughed, trying to lighten things up a bit. I've never been good at the heavy stuff. "Think too much as a rule, don't you? Think things to death."

"Yeah," he admitted, smiling contritely. "S'pose I do."

"But not this time, right?" I asked, suddenly scared again, not able to keep it light when it meant so much, meant everything. "Promise me, Ray. Promise me you won't wake up in the morning with a hundred good reasons why this was a bad idea and should never have happened, should never happen again. I know it's just because of Ann, because you need someone after what she did to you, but-"

"No! This has nothing to do with Ann. This has to do with you. Love you. Loved you first. Love you more."

His hands were gripping my shoulders, angry and possessive, shaking the truth into me, his truth, our truth, and I knew that tomorrow I'd be wearing his bruises like he was wearing mine. For some reason that made me happy and no longer afraid. I smiled, finally able to let everything I felt for him show.

He gave a strangled cry, and though his eyes were green fire his hands gentled on me. Then his mouth was on mine again, making promises that I knew he would never break.


End file.
